


Bleed That Magic Out

by unevenstar



Series: Hetalia Drabbles 2020 [8]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Flirting, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Magic, Motorcycles, Sexual Humor, Wizards, aph ro is a baddie, shortfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:41:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27141226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unevenstar/pseuds/unevenstar
Summary: A wizard's shop, and a biker boy's tease.(Listened to IDKhow and wrote a fic for a certain slapper on Instagram.)
Relationships: Norway/Romania (Hetalia)
Series: Hetalia Drabbles 2020 [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1997740
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Bleed That Magic Out

“Witch, open the door. I know you’re still in that damn shop of yours.” A window on the far right had been cracked open, possibly by spell. Sigurd cursed quietly, as he always forgot to seal those magically. His shop, not-so-cleverly-titled  _ Hidden Wonders,  _ had its sign on the door flipped  _ closed _ for the day as he was cleaning up the last of the place. He commanded a broom to sweep the floor, covered in dust from a customer’s poor attempt at testing out a new charm, and now was polishing the shimmering glass orbs by hand with a microfiber cloth. It was soothing, anyway. 

“I didn’t ask you to come in, Ionescu,” Sigurd sighed. He could practically hear the bastard grinning from the outside, and he opened up a small wooden cabinet to return the cloth back where it belonged.

“But  _ I  _ asked to enter, ‘cause I wanna get you the hell out of here.” 

At least Sigurd could pretend to be amused to humor this little demon in front of him. “Is that so?” 

With a flick of his fingers, the window swung open from its hinge and Sigurd felt a low, pissed-off sound rumbling in his throat. Cold night air poured into the shop’s room, compelling Sigurd to come out from behind the reception to greet his...companion. Screw magic or fae or spellbooks: if Vasile Ionescu, ratty and stupid and devilish in all intentions could be counted as a friend, Sigurd had  _ all _ the love he needed in the world. 

Vasile, motorcycle helmet in his left hand and empty beer can in his right, slid from the low-hanging window to land gracefully on the tiled floor. There was an empty rattling on the floor as Vasile carelessly tossed the Bud Light aside (Sigurd was going to whip his ass for littering on his store). His boots clicked, pace slowly growing faster with giddy eagerness as he approached the wizard. 

_ “FUCK-”  _

In the bastard’s hands was Sigurd’s tie, forcefully pulling him down several inches to eye level. It was a customary greeting by now, but Sigurd could never get used to it. 

“Fuck,” he tried again, staring into those glittering red eyes dripping with malintent. His tie was being tightened so viciously the oxygen was trapped in his throat. 

“Fuck  _ you?” _ Vasile suggested kindly. 

Sigurd wrenched Vasile’s hand away and pulled off his tie, flinging it onto his desk in the back and missing completely.  _ “Certainly _ not. Now stop tracking mud into my shop before I have to clean it up.”

As soon as Vasile turned some of his back to him, Sigurd saw the back of a leather jacket emblazoned with an angel’s wings - how  _ ironic.  _

“Aww, you’re no fun, always hurrying about your little magic shop and entertaining people with elementary spells. I know what you can do, Sigurd, underneath what you show everyone else…” Vasile turned his head back to him, motorcycle helmet still temptingly in his hand. All Sigurd had to do was to take it from him, put it on, and Vasile would take him to experience  _ wonders _ as they did every other night. The air, settling in from outside, caused a chill to run down his spine, and made him wonder how much time they’d wasted idling. And maybe, just  _ maybe _ , Sigurd would be able to crack that mystery that was the man in front of him. 

Here it was: Vasile, looking at Sigurd as if he was prey for the slaughter. And Sigurd, glaring right back with the same force of one competitor to another. It was their little game. 

“Give me the goddamn helmet.”

As if on command, Vasile whirled around with the enthusiasm of a little girl and placed the jet black motorcycle helmet on Sigurd’s head, snatching up his hand and pulling him fast,  _ fast _ , to the door. Sigurd banished his stuffy wizard’s coat in a quick swipe of his free arm before the locks Vasile knew well became undone with a non-verbal spell. They’d crossed the threshold, and soon,  _ Hidden Wonders  _ would be a destination long gone. 

“We’re gonna go on a  _ trip _ , Sig,” Vasile smirked. He’d dragged Sigurd far enough to the parking lot, pulling on his own helmet and swinging a leg over the seat to hop on his precious baby of a motorcycle. “You know how to ride me- Oh, oopsies, ride  _ with _ me very well.” 

“You’re gonna regret spitting out all of this one day,” Sigurd seethed, hopping on the polished leather backseat. Now came his  _ least _ favorite part, and that was wrapping his arms around Vasile’s lean torso to hold the fuck on. A flush burned on his face; the worst part was that the man in front of him could sense it, too. Laughing, Vasile revved up the motor, heeled the kickstand back, and drove out of the lot to merge in on the highway. He'd let go of one of the handlebars to slip Sigurd’s hands under his tight gray tank top, skin against skin. “Hold on tight, muffin.”

Sigurd had no other choice, simply gritting his teeth as Vasile plunged the motorcycle forward. 


End file.
